


I am Yours and You are Mine

by LadyWynne



Series: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Extreme AU, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: Sandor returns to Winterfell to wed Sansa.





	1. Soon, My Lady

**Author's Note:**

> This follows from my series Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder. It is an extreme AU where Sandor grows up in the North and very little of the political drama in the realm has occurred. All the Starks live! This is pretty much fluff. Enjoy!

Sansa pulls the last stitch through with a smile.  She has spent the time since Sandor left embroidering their wedding garb and planning.  This little flourish on Sandor’s tunic is the finishing touch.  It is subtle, as she knows he wouldn’t like anything ostentatious. Sansa puts her things away and stretches carefully.  Her side is nearly healed from her trouble with Gregor, and she doesn’t want any setbacks so close to her wedding day. It has been both the longest and the shortest moon of her life. She enjoys planning for her marriage immensely, but she misses Sandor.  It seems almost cruel that he departed so quickly after their betrothal.  _Soon we can never be parted._ She smiles to herself at the thought.

Sandor had written her father a short note a day after arriving back at Clegane Keep and Ned had conveyed that all was well.  A few days later Sandor wrote to her.

_Dear Sansa,_

_I hope you are still recovering well. Don’t overtax yourself little bird. Wounds like yours take time to heal. Gods, but I wish I could kill my brother over again for each bruise you suffered. But enough of that._

_I am preparing the keep for you as best I can. It seems that everywhere I look there is something needs doing.  How did I never notice how rundown the place has become? Clegane Keep is no Winterfell little bird, and has had no woman to care for it in years, but your presence will be enough to brighten the halls._

_I can see our godswood from where I sit writing this. It reminds me of the day we spent together before I left. There are no hot pools for us to dip our feet in here, but we can still sit under the weirwood together. I can wrap my arms around you and kiss you, with no one to say us nay.  I look forward to our wedding night little bird, will you sing for me?_

_The next time we meet you will become my wife, Lady Sansa Clegane.  Does that sound as good to you as it does to me? I want you with me, and it can’t happen soon enough._

_Until then, my love, I remain your faithful Hound,_

_Sandor Clegane_

 

Sansa smiles to herself happily as she remembers the letter.  She is nervous and excited to see Sandor again.  His hints about the wedding night make her blush.  She knows what to expect.  Her mother spoke to her about it, and she isn’t afraid, never of Sandor.  Remembering their shared embraces makes her stomach flutter in anticipation, but she can’t help but be a little nervous all the same. 

A knock on her chamber door rouses her and she stands. There is much to be done. Sandor will arrive around midday, they will wed on the morrow, and the next day she departs for her new home.

\---

Sansa watches Sandor ride through the gate with her family by her side.  It is so hard not to run to him in excitement! But she does not, and with difficulty, she stands like a lady with her hands clasped before her.  She notices with pride that Sandor looks every bit the lord, with his men at his back. _Will I make as fine a lady as he does a lord?_ Sansa sincerely hopes so.  She has been training for the role her entire life.  He, on the other hand, never had any expectation of governing his family’s lands. While never lacking confidence as a warrior, Sandor usually stayed well to himself. He had only carried his title for a moon’s turn, yet she could already see a change in him.  How he directs those behind him assertively; and after greeting her and her parents, he speaks easily with her older brothers, even giving a short laugh at something one of them says.

Sansa wishes she could be alone with Sandor, but there is no time now. _Soon enough I will be with him every day,_ she reminds herself as they move inside for a quick noon meal. After the meal it is time for fittings. Sansa giggles to herself imagining Sandor’s session.  She can hear his grumbling, and hopes he isn’t too harsh with the seamstress.  For herself, Sansa can’t wait to try on her dress. She happily follows her mother and Arya to her chamber where everything is laid out. 

Sansa will wear the colors of her house, and her gown will be the most fashionable the North has ever seen.  She admires the garment before slipping it over her head.  It is simply cut, done in white linen and lined with shiny grey silk. The silk can be seen in the long dagged sleeves and in panels concealed in the fullness of her skirt, which show as she walks. In addition to the fine fabrics, her dress is adorned with hundreds of tiny seed pearls.  They are concentrated in the bodice then flow down over her hips in an effect reminiscent of swirling snow. The gown has a scoop neckline, showing off her flawless creamy skin. It is finished by being trimmed in the lovely soft white fox fur Sandor gifted her with on her nameday. Lady Catelyn laces Sansa herself, then she turns to the glass.  Her red hair and blue eyes stand out in relief next to the white of the dress, and Sansa must admit she likes the effect. She will wear her thick curling hair in an intricately braided crown that gathers at the nape of her neck, with delicate white and grey ribbons woven through it.

Her mother stands behind Sansa and looks in the glass with her.  Catelyn’s eyes fill with tears as her hands clasp one of Sansa’s own. “You are beautiful Sansa. Clegane is lucky to have you.”

Sansa reaches over with her other hand and gives her mother’s a squeeze. “Thank you, mother. I know he isn’t your choice, but we love each other. We will take care of one another.”

Lady Catelyn smiles. “I know you will.  All I’ve ever wanted was your happiness, sweet girl.”

Sansa turns and embraces her teary-eyed mother.  After a moment she reaches over and pulls a reluctant Arya in with them.  “I will miss you both so much.” Sansa’s voice breaks with emotion as she clings to them a moment longer.

Letting go, Arya comments, “I feel like everyone is leaving all at once.  You, Jon, and even Theon depart the day after tomorrow.” She looks down at the ground. “It won’t be the same without you.”

Sansa gives her another small hug, then teases, “I’m sure it won’t. Who will you torment without me here?”

Arya opens her mouth in mock offense, “Why whatever do you mean, sweet sister?”

“Only that our dear septa may end up with a frog in her tea should you grow bored without me.”

Arya laughs and starts to throw a spool of ribbon at her when Lady Catelyn steps in, smiling herself.  “Watch the dress! We’d better get you changed if we want it to be in one piece for the wedding.”

Sansa looks at her reflection one more time.  She knows Sandor hasn’t given a single thought to what she will wear, but she hopes he is pleased all the same.    

Sandor

 _Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! When will this infernal woman stop poking at me? As if anything she does can improve my looks._ He knows he isn’t being reasonable. He must look the part of groom to a high lord’s daughter, but his patience is wearing thin.  He has been cooped up in here almost since he arrived, and all he wants to do is see his little bird.

“Hold still m’lord, or you’re like to get stuck,” the woman warns.  Sure enough a moment later he feels a sharp prick in his shoulder.

“Enough!” Sandor roars and the seamstress scuttles away from him.  “We’re done here. Got what you need, woman?” Wide-eyed the wench nods. “Good. I’m changing. I’ll leave this on the bed. Come back and get it when I’ve gone.”

“Yes, m’lord.” She offers a small curtsy and quickly departs.

Sandor sighs and sags on the bed.  He shouldn’t have lost his temper.  He’ll probably end up looking a fool tomorrow because of it, with one sleeve shorter than the other.  The ridiculous thought actually makes the corner of his mouth curl up and he reaches for his tunic. _I wonder where I’ll find Sansa?_

Sandor leaves the room and heads toward Sansa’s chambers, but she isn’t there.  He asks a maid where she might be and is directed toward the kitchens.  Sandor comes upon Sansa as she exits, having finalized plans for tomorrow’s feast, he imagines.  She smiles so brightly upon seeing him that he can’t help but smile back at her, scars stretching.  She fairly bounces her way over to him.  He steps to meet her, lifts her toes off the floor, and kisses her soundly.  He breaks away only to trail kisses down her neck. “Sandor!” she squeaks. “Someone may see!”

“Let them,” he growls but straightens and sets her on her feet. “All they will see is a man and his intended.”

“Oh Sandor. I am so glad to see you.  A moon’s turn has felt like a lifetime of waiting!” Despite her earlier protest she does not pull away from him, but presses herself against his chest as she speaks.

“Aye, little bird, for me too.” He leans down, and wrapping his arms around her, kisses her in earnest. She responds beautifully, wrapping her graceful arms around his neck and seeming to melt. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, not caring who may come upon them.  Gently he explores her mouth as his hands slowly moved down her long waist to settle at her hips.  Time seems to stretch, and the kiss ends slowly, as if they are gradually surfacing from a deep pool.

Sansa takes a breath. She doesn’t speak but gazes up at him with pink cheeks and dark eyes. He caresses her face and reluctantly steps back. _Soon. So very soon,_ he tells himself.

“Would you like to walk with me?” She still seems a bit dazed so he offers her his arm.

“Yes, of course,” she finally answers. “Where shall we go?”

“You tell me, little bird.”

She thinks a moment. “Have you ever seen the glass gardens? They grow mostly food, but in one we grow beautiful flowers.”

“Lead on, my lady.”

When they reach the gardens, Sandor must admit they are a marvel.  He has never seen so much expensive glass, and the interior is warm despite the brisk day. Sansa leads him over to a bench set amongst blooms.  They sit together in silence a moment and he takes the opportunity to admire her. _Gods, she is a beauty._ Sansa is a picture surrounded by the blue winter roses Winterfell is known for.  Her thick red hair is loose and hangs so long the ends brush the bench they sit upon.  The rose petals are the exact shade of her lovely eyes, and as he gazes at her he feels awed by her purity and goodness. By contrast he is tainted. Far too damaged, body and soul, to be worthy of her. Nevertheless, he takes her small pale hand in his darker one.

“Are you ready for tomorrow little bird?” he rasps.

“Yes,” Sansa answers, “so ready! I can’t wait to be wed and see Clegane Keep.  It will be a wonderful home for us.  I’ll make it so,” Sansa looks up at him. “I will be a good wife to you, Sandor.”

He squeezes her hand. “I know you will little bird.  You will be my lady wife, and I will do everything to make you happy. I have a wedding gift for you. I want you to have it now.”

“You do?” Sansa’s eyes sparkle but then she frowns, “but I have nothing for you.”

“It’s no matter,” he brushes her concern away and draws out a small parcel wrapped in yellow silk. “This belonged to my mother and my grandmother before her.  It was gifted to her by my grandsire, the first Lord Clegane.”

Sansa carefully unwraps a silver ring.  The wide band features intricately worked hounds on each side with black eyes.  The large round stone is a luminescent opal, and it is surrounded by minute pearls alternating with black onyx. The effect is striking. “Oh Sandor, thank you! It’s exquisite!” She kisses him and slips the ring on her finger, studying it some more. “It must have cost a fortune to have made.”

“Aye. It was the first thing my grandsire bought with his new income.”

Sansa looks at him and speaks kindly. “He must have loved your grandmother very much.”

“He did, little bird. Losing her nearly broke him, I’m told. He withdrew after that, and had little enough to do with my father.” He looks away. He doesn’t like recalling his family history. Maybe his grandsire’s pain was the reason his own father placed more value in advancement than family.

Sansa recognizes his sudden melancholy and draws him back to her, kissing his lips gently. “I will treasure it, my love.”

Sandor says nothing in return, but draws her close.  She lays her head on his shoulder. They bask for a moment in the golden afternoon light, the air fragrant and warm, the path strewn with blue petals. Sandor recognizes the sanctity of the moment. Theirs is a young love, it’s true, but one earned through vulnerability and trust. No union of duty could hope to run as deep.

Sansa

That evening the Starks dine privately. Jon is included, and he sits somewhat rigidly, being pointedly ignored by Lady Catelyn. Sansa takes the place beside him, with Rickon on her other side, and smiles at him. It is a lovely meal, but surprisingly muted considering the upcoming wedding. The realization that things will soon change hangs heavy in the air. They may never again be together as they are now, and if they are it will still not be the same. They will have different lives, and be different people, the inevitable result of living. Sansa looks around at each beloved face and truly realizes that her future is leading her away.  She is pleased to be wedding Sandor, but her family has been her world. She probably won’t be present when Rickon brings home his first boar, or Bran sees his thirteenth nameday, or her mother gets her first streak of grey.  She will be close by, but winter is coming, and she can’t visit every moon.

Jon notices the threat of tears and pats her hand. He likely understands better than anyone, since he is leaving for the Wall. She resolves to pray for him and write often. The life of a black brother will not be an easy one.

After the meal Robb stands and smiles. It transforms his face, just like when father smiles, and he looks the youth he is. “Everyone stay put. I return bearing gifts.” Robb looks at his father, and at his nod, he and Jon leave the room together. When they return their arms are full of wriggling fluff.  Exclamations are heard around the table.

“Look what we came across on this morning’s hunt. Direwolf pups! One for each Stark child, two females and four males.”

Sansa is immediately drawn toward the smaller female.  She is light grey with yellow eyes. _A mix of Sandor and I!_ When Robb passes by her she pulls the soft warm mass from his arms. The pup settles quietly in her lap while Sansa strokes her. “What a perfect little lady you are!” she coos at it. The presence of the direwolf brings an instant calm over Sansa, and when it looks up at her she knows she is in love.

“These are the first direwolves south of the wall in a hundred years,” their father informs them. “They are not ordinary pets.  They will grow large as ponies so you must train them well.”

“We will, father,” says Robb, and they all nod in agreement.

“They were meant for you,” Catelyn adds, “gifts from the old gods.”

Rickon is already on the floor with his black pup. Sansa sees flashes of its green eyes as it playfully growls and chews her brother’s arm with white teeth. Bran has claimed a large grey and silver.  It is looking keenly at its new master, head tilted comically. Arya takes the second female, slightly larger than Sansa’s with some dusty tan tones to its fur. It is wagging its tail at Arya but turns to growl and nip when Rickon’s gets too close.  Robb’s pup is already sitting regally by his side, a smoky grey with yellow eyes.  Jon’s pup is still in his arms. It is a striking white with red eyes, intense like its master. _Snow for a snow_ , she thinks.

Sansa feeds small bits of leftover meat to her new friend as she watches the commotion around her.  It’s nice to think that she will have this bond with her siblings. Come what may, their direwolves will mark them as family and protect them. Sansa smiles cheerfully and laughs as the pup licks her fingers.  She can’t wait to show Sandor.


	2. From This Day, Until the End of Our Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding day arrives!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All fluff. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, I just want to take this opportunity to thank the people in this community. Everyone has been so kind!

Sansa

She wakes between her gently snoring sister and her new direwolf pup.  Sansa gently scratches between the fluffy grey ears and watches one yellow eye open to look at her before slowly closing again. _You will have to find a new bed after tonight, little one._ Then it hits her. _It is my wedding day! I will marry Sandor!_ Sansa beams.

Sandor

The moment is almost here.  _At last._ All he wants is to finally be wedded to his little bird. The day had passed so slowly, without a single glimpse of Sansa.  He had spent the morning sparring with his men, then eaten a light meal, bathed and dressed; but now there is precious little for him to do. He paces and goes over his part in the ceremony. He is groom to a Stark of Winterfell, he must needs play the role well. They could hang the pomp for all he cares, but he knows it is important to Sansa. _A wedding is for a woman_ , _and my little bird will have her perfect day._  

Sandor pauses in his pacing and glances in the large glass, avoiding looking at his face.  It is a decent enough picture. Sansa made nearly everything he wears except his leather surcoat, which belonged to his father. It is sleeveless yellow, edged in black, and comes down to his knees. There are three black dogs on the upper left chest and the clasps are gold hounds.  Under the surcoat Sandor wears a decorative black velvet tunic Sansa quilted.  Over the heart, where only he sees it, is a simply embroidered little yellow bird. He does not wear armor, but carries his sword at his hip with a black belt and scabbard.  Finally, Sandor lets his eyes roam upward. There it is, his curse. _Damn you to the seventh hell, Gregor._ He doesn’t know how gentle Sansa can even look at him, let alone love him. Scowling, he pulls his black hair more carefully over his ruined side.

Sandor needs to move. He knows it is too early, but he pulls on black leather gloves and picks up his cloak. It was made by Lady Catelyn, he suspects as a kind of peace offering between her and Sansa.  It is simple to suit his tastes, made of thick rich black wool with three dogs in yellow leather. It is lined with black bear fur.  Before he can swing it around his shoulders there is a knock.  He opens to see Robb, Jon, and Theon.

Robb carries a flagon and Theon four glasses. Jon grins, “Thought you could use some company while you wait.”

Sandor quirks his lip up and swings the door wider. Rarely has an idea sounded so good to his ears. They enter and share a glass until it is time to go down.

Sansa

Sansa’s hands flutter nervously about her dress as she waits.  _It is almost time!_   She is not afraid, but it is a huge moment in her life and she is becoming anxious. Sansa wishes her direwolf were here, but the pups are too young and wild for the ceremony.

Lady Catelyn and Arya try to make conversation, but Sansa glances toward the window to check the light.  She is twisting her new ring when her father arrives. His steadfast presence calms her, and she stands still for him as he takes her in.  Ned’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, but there is a glisten of wetness at the corners as well. “Sansa, my girl, you are a vision.” He walks over and kisses her cheek.

Sansa smiles. “Thank you, father. You look very handsome.” He smiles and shakes his head.

“Are you ready, Sansa?” Ned looks closely at her then.  “I shall not give you away against your wishes.”

“Yes, one last chance to run!” Arya breaks in. Her mother shushes her.

Sansa looks up at her father’s dear face. “I am ready.” She is so glad he is here with her today.  She knows the North praises her father’s honor, but she will always recall his love and care for his family.

“Then it is time.” Ned reaches for her maiden’s cloak. “Let a father cloak his lovely daughter one more time.” He drapes the cloak her mother gave her on her nameday around her shoulders.  It is white, lined in warm grey fur, with a huge direwolf sigil embroidered on the back. As he clasps it, Ned leans in to hug his oldest daughter and whispers in her ear. “Never forget you are a Stark. There is a wolf in you. I love you, Sansa.”

Sandor

Sandor stands before the heart tree, waiting.  The guests gather around him.  There are not many.  Most lords have only just departed Winterfell from Sansa’s tourney, and it would have been a hardship to return so soon.  Besides, it is not a popular match.  Sandor couldn’t care less. For himself, Theon stands just behind him as his second.  Otherwise, he only has Clegane Keep’s master-at-arms in attendance. Sansa’s entire family are present, of course, as well as select of Winterfell’s staff. 

Soon Sansa appears on her father’s arm. She is a vision to behold, moving gracefully through the autumnal glory of the godswood.  The white of her dress stands out against the fallen red weirwood leaves, with the yellows and greens of birch, spruce, poplar, and sentinel pine behind her.  Her red hair shimmers in the afternoon light, as do the pearl embellishments on her gown. Sandor knows he will never forget how Sansa looks in this moment for as long as he lives.

Her father, Lord Eddard, walks tall beside her. Sandor swallows as she glides toward him smiling.  She has eyes only for him, and he for her. As Ned and Sansa stop a short distance before the heart tree, Sandor feels like she is the entire world.  He stands awestruck at her beauty until Lord Stark gently clears his throat and he remembers himself.

“Who comes before the gods?” he rasps.

Lord Stark answers. “Sansa of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods.  Who comes to claim her?”

“Me. Sandor of House Clegane, Lord of Clegane Keep. I claim her. Who gives her?”

“Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, her father.” Ned turns to Sansa. “Lady Sansa, will you take this man?”

She speaks clearly. “I take this man.” At this, it is done, and he feels a lump in his throat.

Lord Stark passes Sansa’s hand into his own and she steps up beside him.  They kneel before the carved face together.  He doesn’t know any prayers, or what good they would do, but he quickly thanks the old gods for Sansa.  He starts to ask them to watch over her but thinks better of it.  _I am the Hound. I will protect her myself._

When they rise, Lord Stark removes Sansa’s maiden cloak and steps back next to Lady Catelyn.  Sandor swings his own cloak around to drape over his bride’s shoulders.  As he straightens the sight of her nearly does him in.  Sansa Stark.  Sansa fucking Stark is standing there in his colors, looking as pleased as if she had married a prince.  She is radiantly beautiful, and in that moment a sense of pride like he has never felt before swells in him.  _She chose me. She is mine as I am hers._

Sansa

She is entirely happy.  Her wedding is perfect. Sandor looks gallant; so tall and strong, so fierce, yet so gentle with her. The look he gave her as she walked to him told her everything.  She made the right choice.  Now, standing in his thick cloak, still warm from his body, Sansa feels safe and wanted.  She looks up at him and revels in the pride on his face.  All for her.

They turn toward the crowd and cheering erupts around them.  Sansa takes Sandor’s hand and smiles widely while he stands stiffly next to her.  After a moment her mother raises her hand for silence.  “Friends, as it please you, let us move to the sept to confirm this union before the seven as we have done here before the old gods.”  With a general sound of agreement, the guests follow Sandor and herself as they make their way arm-in-arm to the sept. Sansa knows it is unusual in the North, but she wishes to honor both her and Sandor’s lady mothers by acknowledging the southron gods. Sansa’s mother is a Tully from the riverlands, and it was for her Winterfell’s small sept was built.  Sandor’s mother hailed from the westerlands.  He had spoken of her only once, when presenting her with his mother’s ring, but Sansa thinks he must miss her a great deal.  She hopes she will learn about the woman when she goes to Clegane Keep.  Besides their mothers, Sansa herself keeps both the old and new gods.  She will not chance offending them as her marriage begins.

As they enter Sansa recalls meeting Sandor here during the tournament.  She had loved him already, and he asked if she wanted him.  When Sandor promised they would be together, Sansa had known it would come to be; and now here they are, entering the sept as husband and wife. They walk up the aisle scattered with blue petals to stand between the father and mother.

The sept is beautiful. It shines with afternoon sun streaming through the windows, and crystals are hung everywhere to catch the light.  Rainbows dance across the walls. The effect is so magical she gasps at the sight, gripping Sandor’s hand excitedly. When everyone is assembled Septon Chayle starts forward.  As the septon takes his place Sandor and Sansa face him.  They hold out their joined hands, Sandor’s large rough one flat over her own, and intertwine their fingers.

Septon Chayle begins, “My lords, my ladies, we stand here in witness to this union.” As he speaks he pulls out a long piece of fabric and begins to wind it about their hands.  Tears spring to Sansa’s eyes as she recognizes the tourney favour she made for Sandor.  The yellow vines and delicate images are miraculously free of blood after his fight with his brother.  Sansa smiles up at him, touched and pleased at his thoughtfulness. _He gave that to the septon for our ceremony._ Sandor gives her a small smile in return before they turn their attention back to what the septon is saying. “Let it be known that Sansa of House Stark and Sandor of House Clegane are one heart, one flesh, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the seven I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

Chayle pauses a moment, letting his words sink in, then unwinds the cloth carefully.  “Look upon each other and say the words.”

Sandor reaches out to take both her trembling hands in his own. They speak the words together, his rasp mingling with her high clear voice. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”  Sandor’s grey eyes never leave her for a moment, and as his deep voice utters, “I am hers and she is mine,” Sansa’s stomach flutters.

As they finish speaking they remain facing one another, and Sandor, eyes still locked with hers proclaims, “With this kiss I pledge my love.” One of his hands cups her neck gently, and her head tilts back as he leans down.  His kiss is tender, but not chaste.  He kisses her as a husband, pressing his lips against hers firmly for a few heartbeats and drawing her waist against him.  Sansa blushes and smiles as he releases her amidst the applause of their guests.

The sun is setting as they head into the Great Hall for a modest wedding feast.  The benches are only half full, with no one below the salt, but she doesn’t care. Her tournament was grand enough, and her encounter with Gregor taught her to value those she loves far more than crowds of strangers. Nevertheless, her mother has made everything feel special.  Low arrangements of winter roses adorn the tables, the bread has been skillfully formed to resemble those same blossoms, and wine flows freely.  Catelyn and Sansa also made a point to find out Sandor’s favorite dish to complement some of Sansa’s. The first course is a creamy saffron soup and small tarts of mushroom, thyme, and onion.  The second is a choice between whole roasted chicken with crisp buttered skin or a delectable duck pie with dark cherries.

The atmosphere is light and laughter echoes through the room. Sandor sits with his hand on her thigh and direwolf pups romp in the rushes. She and Sandor are both happy, and Sansa laughs as they accept toasts and well wishes. She is careful to show her appreciation for each guest, whether servant or family. No gifts are presented, at Sansa’s request, although she knows her father will send her off with more supplies than Clegane Keep could use in a year.

Just before the sweet is served Lord Stark stands.  He toasts the newlyweds and presents Jon, Theon, and Sandor with the longswords promised for her rescue.  They are all clearly well-crafted and made to suit each man’s preferences. Jon’s hilt and scabbard are covered in functional black leather, befitting his role in the Night’s Watch.  The pommel is topped by a direwolf with gleaming red rubies for eyes. Theon’s sword is much more ornate.  It is finished in gold and the guard is fashioned into a kraken with arms extending to each side. The grip and scabbard are glossy brown leather.  Sandor’s sword has a wide hilt to suit his hand. It is finished in gold as well, but the guard and pommel are simply cast.  The grip is black leather, and the scabbard as well. It is adorned with three yellow dogs near the top. As the swords are presented Sansa applauds vigorously.

Next the sweet is brought out. There are sounds of appreciation and Sansa’s eyes light up. The kitchens have produced a huge confection. The outside is covered with a thick white frosting and crowned with sugared fruits. Inside is a dense moist fruitcake, bursting with raisins, currants, and nuts. She licks her lips, and once she and Sandor are served she picks up the first bite with her fingers and holds it out to him.  His eyes widen a moment but then he grins, and takes the bite in his mouth, grabbing her hand as he sucks every stray morsel from her fingers. Sansa laughs and there are cheers from the room.

As the evening wears on Sansa glances over to see Sandor watching her strangely. She smiles at him. “Are you well, my lord?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he takes her hand and raises it to his lips, kissing the palm gently. “You are stunning little bird.” She feels weak in the lure of his grey eyes.

Theon notices their moment and wastes no time. “The bedding!” he calls. “Time for the bedding!”

Sandor looks to her and she shakes her head.  She has no wish to participate in the custom, and besides, precious few nobles are present. Sandor stands and pulls her to her feet as well. “There will be no bedding!” he proclaims, with no room for argument. Sansa is relieved, but then, before she can thank Sandor he sweeps her up and over his shoulder. She exclaims and swats him on the back, laughing. She can hear the grin in his voice as he calls, “I will see to it myself, and curse any man who says otherwise!” Then, securing her with a hand slapped forcefully over her rump, he makes for the door.  Before they’ve even reached it, she hears Theon leading the room in a hearty rendition of “The Bear and the Maiden Fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a link to my inspiration for Sandor’s outfit. I know it is a LOTR look, but it is a gosh darn fine look so I went with it for something different for him, just changed the colors. 
> 
> http://www.pearsonsrenaissanceshoppe.com/boromir-leather-surcoat.html


	3. One Heart, One Flesh, One Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor are married and their love blossoms. Sansa heads off to her new life at Clegane's Keep.

Sansa expects Sandor to put her on her feet when they exit the wedding feast, but he does not. She giggles and wiggles against his shoulder. “You can put me down now, Sandor.”

He answers good-naturedly, “Not bloody likely.” His strides toward their marriage chambers would constitute three of her own, and when they reach the stairs he takes them two at a time. She can feel his large muscles move beneath her, but he seems to hardly notice the climb.  When they reach the door, Sandor kicks it in with a bang that makes her start, but once inside he sets her down lightly.

As soon as the door latches again he takes her face in both hands and kisses her. It is intense at first, but soon he slows and wraps his arms around her.  The kiss goes on for long moments, until she feels loose and warm. When he pulls away his grey eyes are as soft and deep as her own must be.

“Hello, wife,” he rasps lowly. She smiles at the sound of that.

“Hello, husband.” She rises on her tiptoes to kiss him softly again, taking a moment to feel the dichotomy between the edge of his scarring and the soft fullness of his lips. She has never shied away from his disfigurement, but neither has she explored it. She moves from the center of his mouth to grace the corner of it, then his ruined jaw, with soft short little kisses. He stands still, letting her. Settling back on her heels she takes his hand and leads him to a large chair by the fire.  She gently pushes him to sit, then kneels to remove his boots.

Sandor’s eyes never leave her and as soon as may be he pulls her into his lap. He starts to speak but she hushes him with her lips, conveying her wish for his silence. Sansa wants to show him how she loves him, how she cherishes him. She knows, perhaps better than he can articulate himself, the consequences of his joyless home, the weight on his soul.  Even if it is hard for her to be forward, she wants him to know he is safe with her. She wants to set the tone for a happy marriage, with absolute honesty and acceptance of one another.

Sansa moves her hand up to his scarred cheek, cupping it, then caressing it. Sandor grasps her wrist, but she holds it still on his face and he releases her.  She traces the crags and valleys of the taut skin with her fingertips, sweeping his black hair back from the scars on his head. Soon his eyes close as she pets him. She begins to speak softly, murmuring everything he needs to hear. “I love you Sandor. You are a good man, a good person. You are strong and brave and gentle. You deserve to be happy, Sandor. My love…”

 Sansa sees tears at the corner of his eyes and his arms wrap around her. She kisses all over his face, slowly moving over his eyes and his nose, his temples, his cheeks. Finally, Sansa lays her head on his shoulder and rests against him as he runs his warm hand up and down her back.

“I love you Sandor. Promise me we will be together always.”

“Aye, little bird, I will hold you close for the rest of my days.”

Sandor

 _She is too good for the likes of me._ They sit for a while longer, before he pulls her closer, kissing her again. He slides his hand down her side, feeling the bump of pearls under his fingers; reaching her arse he cups it in his large hand and squeezes lightly. When he pulls his face away Sansa’s loveliness stuns him, her blue eyes are soft and deep and her face is aglow in the firelight.  He longs to see more of her, but he doesn’t rush. _Slowly. Gently._ He has never been with a maiden, and truthfully his own experience is fairly limited.  His face kept most women away. Shoving those thoughts aside he returns to revel in Sansa’s pink cheeks and rosy lips.

“Will you let your hair down?” he rasps.

“As it please my lord,” she teases softly, before reaching up and carefully undoing ribbons and braids as he watches, finally running her fingers through her loose tresses.

“How did I ever come by such a beautiful bride?” he says, gazing at her, “I thought I was seeing a goddess when you came to me at the heart tree.”

Sansa gives him a shy smile. “I hoped you would be pleased.”

“Pleased? Any man would kill to be in my place.” At that Sansa gives him a true smile.  She places her hand on his cheek, leaning in to kiss him again. Her lips are so soft, and taste of fruitcake and wine. He deepens the kiss, the soft wetness of her mouth threatening to undo him. He breaks away, and holding her gaze, he lifts a finger to trace her neckline through the fluttering edges of the fur he gave her. He smiles at her blush and leans in to trail kisses down her neck and lower. Sansa shivers and he cups one full breast, kneading it gently.  He continues to kiss and lick his way to her cleavage, where she sighs and tangles a hand in his hair. He pauses after a moment, mesmerized by the effect of the wax and wane of her breath.

Suddenly there is far too much between them.  He sits up and gives her a gentle push. “Stand up.” They both rise and he turns her away from him toward the fire, moving her hair over her shoulder. Then, placing his hands on her laces, he leans down. “May I, little bird?” Sansa nods and he begins to untie her gown.  It is slow work but he doesn’t hurry and, finally, he pushes the dress from her shoulders, kissing them as he does so. Sansa has the gown held up with her arms, but she lets it fall and steps out of it, kicking off her shoes and turning to face him in her lacy wedding shift. She smiles at him.

Before he can react, she is reaching for him. “Let me help you, husband.” He stands in awe as she works the clasps on his surcoat, deftly undoing them and pulling the heavy garment from his shoulders.  She lays it across a chair and adds her dress. 

He can wait no longer. “I want to see you, Sansa,” he rasps.

Sansa doesn’t hesitate. She steps back a pace and bends to remove her stockings, then pulls off her shift. As she straightens she is a vision in the firelight, her red hair gleaming and her perfect body on display in nothing but smallclothes. “Gods, Sansa,” his voice breaks, “You are gorgeous.” He pulls off his tunic, throwing it on the floor, and sweeps her up into his arms. He kisses her as he carries her into the bedchamber.

\---

In the light of early morning, Sandor watches Sansa as she sleeps. Last night was perfect, and now she looks so peaceful.  He takes in the shape of her chin and her long eyelashes, her slightly parted mouth and the few freckles on the bridge of her nose. He reaches over and tucks a tendril of her soft glorious hair behind her ear. Sansa stirs lazily and her blue eyes flutter open. She smiles when she sees him and he can’t help but smile back at her.

“Good morning, my love,” she shifts to see him better.

He doesn’t answer in words but leans over to kiss her delightful lips. “You are so beautiful in the morning, Sansa. I know I will never tire of the sight.” She sighs contentedly and he draws her closer, feeling the press of her against him as they kiss lazily.

He pulls away and chuckles at the little pout she makes. “Are you well this morning, little bird? We have a ride ahead of us.”

“Oh yes. I am quite well,” she says, smiling playfully at him as she runs her fingers up his chest.

Grinning, he captures her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each fingertip and trailing down her palm. He stops for an instant when he sees the shine of newly healed flesh circling her wrists, a gift from his brutish brother that has previously been hidden. He feels a flash of anger but continues without commenting. He won’t have Sansa thinking such imperfections matter to him. Instead he speaks against her skin as he trails kisses up her arm.

“You are so perfect, little bird, so kind, so sweet, and bloody gorgeous.” She giggles as he advances and soon his hand finds her breast. As his kisses begin their descent from her shoulder he takes a moment to look her in the eye. “I would be lost without you, Sansa. I don’t know what I would have become.”

Sansa sobers at his words. “You would still have been brave and strong, Sandor, but it doesn’t matter. We were always meant for each other. I know it. I love you husband.”

“I love you, wife.” With that he puts all his efforts into bringing the smile back to her face, and is pleased when he succeeds rather quickly.

Sansa

Later that morning Sansa stands in the courtyard before her family. The entire household has gathered to see Jon, Theon, and herself away.  The wagons loaded with supplies for the Wall and Clegane’s Keep are packed and ready.  Theon travels with a small escort of Winterfell men and will meet with some of his own people at White Harbor. All that remain are the goodbyes.  It is a moment Sansa has known was coming her entire life, as surely as winter.  Sandor stands waiting a little behind her, having already taken his leave of her lord father.  He is giving her the time she needs, but she finds herself glancing at him often. Already he is the person she looks to for support. _We are two halves of a whole now._ Pleased and strengthened by the thought she turns to her family.

Direwolf pups roll on the ground as she speaks to her parents. She hugs and kisses them, promising her mother to write often. Her father asks her to send a raven as soon as she arrives, although the Keep is but a half day’s ride from Winterfell.  Sansa whispers in Arya’s ear how much she will miss her. Bran tries to play the gallant, wishing her well, while Rickon is sullen. Theon gives her an exaggerated bow before kissing her hand. He is in good humor, but he is sincere when he tells her that he thinks of her as his own sister.

Jon’s hug is warm. “I will write you, brother. Stay warm on the Wall.”

He flashes her a rare brilliant smile and squeezes her arms one more time. “Aye, sister, stay safe.”

Finally, Robb takes her into his arms, crushing her to him. “Remember, I’m never far should you have need of me. Winterfell will always be your home as well Sansa.”  Tears threaten as she pulls back to look at him, and he gives her a weak smile.  She and Robb have always been very close. Returning the smile, she turns away quickly, before she gets too caught up in her emotions.

Immediately, Sandor is there, leading her to her mare. Jon and Theon are already in their saddles as Sandor lifts her onto her horse.  As they ride through the gates Sansa smiles and waves at her parents and siblings.  Once out, Jon turns north, Theon east, and Sandor leads their column south to Clegane’s Keep.

\---

A few hours later they make a brief stop and Sandor grasps her waist to help her down again.  As he sets her on her feet he steals a kiss. “Want to stretch your legs for a moment?”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she smiles, taking his arm. They walk along the group, Sandor checking the wagons and men, Sansa greeting people and attempting to learn those she doesn’t yet know. Shortly they reach the end of the column and Sansa notices they are alone. The rest of the company tending to their duties or just offering the new couple some privacy, she doesn’t know. Sandor lifts her up to sit on the back of the last cart before hopping up beside her.  Sansa’s direwolf rolls in the grass beside the kingsroad, just as happy as Sansa to move around a bit.  She had been riding in a wagon before, being too small to keep up for so long.

Sandor notices her watching the pup fondly, “So what have you named her?”

“Lady,” she replies happily. “It fits perfectly Sandor.  She is so gentle and well-mannered already.”

“Like her mistress then.” He takes her hand as they enjoy the warmth of the sun.

“Everyone chose a name for their wolves the first night, except Bran,” she tells him. “He told me what he picked as we were leaving Winterfell though.  Bran’s wolf is Summer.  Robb’s is Grey Wind, Arya’s is Nymeria, Rickon’s is Shaggydog, and Jon’s is Ghost.” She smiles wistfully.

“All good names. I hope Lady grows a little fiercer though. She’ll be by your side when I can’t be.”

Sansa tightens her hand in his and leans closer to him. “I certainly hope that is not often, my lord.”

“I don’t mean for it to be.” He leans down and kisses her. 

\---

Late that afternoon Sansa crests a rise and gasps at what she sees.  Sandor hears and reins in his horse, turning to her.

“Oh Sandor, is that..?”

“It’s Clegane’s Keep, our home little bird.”

“Sandor, it’s wonderful!” Sansa takes in the tall grey walls with round wide round towers at the corners and square crenellations along their length.  There are two narrower towers on either side of the strong oak gates. These are adorned with long Clegane banners and topped with fluttering black and yellow pennants. She can make out the slate roof of the Keep itself over the walls and the glimmer of the White Knife in the distance.

She notices Sandor watching her closely and turns to him with a smile. “Truly Sandor.  It is just as I imagined.”

“It’s not grand, but the walls are strong, and it’s well-positioned.”

Sansa hides her smile at his rather military description of the castle and walks her horse close to him. “I know I will feel safe here, my love.” Her voice takes on a gently teasing tone. “After all, no one would dare threaten the wife of the ferocious Hound.”

Sandor grunts. “Come then wife. Let’s get you settled.”

As they start toward the castle Sansa is filled with hopeful anticipation, and trotting into the yard she is more than pleased by what she sees. The household has turned out to welcome them. They are a quiet bunch, but Sansa can tell that they have scrubbed up to look their best for her and Sandor. She smiles at them, and as Sandor helps her dismount her eyes travel upward to the Keep itself. The doors to the hall stand tall before her and they are stunning black ebony, Sansa has never seen their like. The stone is grey. Besides the black doors, the façade is simple. Sansa turns to take in the rest of the yard. To her right are the stables and to her left the training yard and armory. _This will do nicely._ She can already envision her life here, and she just knows it will be a happy one.

Sandor

Sandor watches Sansa as she looks around, a bright beacon in the dingy yard. He hopes she will be happy at Clegane Keep.  She has never visited and it cannot be compared to Winterfell. The walls and main building are made of limestone.  The hall is nice for a small castle. There is a vaulted ceiling and a high table a step above the rest of the room at the far end.  On the left, as you enter is a large hearth. Two long tables run parallel to the hearth the length of the room.  The sole decoration is a large, but rather shabby, banner behind the high table showing the Clegane sigil of three black dogs running on a yellow field. To the back an exit to the left leads to the kitchens and to the right to a hall with council chambers and guest rooms.  At the end of this wing are stairs leading to the family’s tower. The Lord’s chambers are at the top of the three-story tower. There is a solar, then two doors for the lord and lady’s bedchambers.  These chambers adjoin through a connecting doorway but also by a balcony. Seeing it through Sansa’s eyes he thinks the place must seem austere, too cold for someone like her who is used to fine things.       

Sansa’s hand on his arm brings him back to the present.  She looks up at him and then pointedly at the ranks of his house guard standing at attention. _They are a sorry lot._ The defenses had suffered severely in the last years of his father’s lordship.  It had only been him and Sandor in the Keep, and the relationship was strained to say the least.  In truth, he didn’t think his father much cared what became of the place, so long as Gregor did well in the south.  However, a half-trained force would no longer do.  Sandor was married now, and if experience taught him anything it was that his beautiful bride must be protected properly. She would be safe and well in his Keep, even if it killed him and a few recruits to make it happen.

 _Sansa._   He turns to her, and nods at the troops to please her. His little bird smiles and greets each kitchen maid and stable boy as if they were King Robert himself. _They love her already. How can they not?_ Lady Sansa is one of the highest-born women in the seven kingdoms and the most beautiful. Her red hair hangs shining to her waist and her eyes are a deep blue. She is the perfect lady, delicate and gentle and courteous. Sandor can hardly believe she is here.  She is his in truth, and he will be able to see her and hold her and touch her as much as he likes. Sansa is the only person to ever show him kindness. _I love her_ , he thinks in awe again, and unbelievably she loves him back.

At his touch Sansa turns to him and smiles. He offers his arm, “Lady Clegane.”

Sansa curtsies, “My lord.” Then she takes his arm and they walk together into the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!
> 
> Here is the inspiration for Sansa's wedding hair. I know my description didn't do it justice. 
> 
> http://chicvintagebrides.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/Romantic-Braided-Updo.jpg


End file.
